


Broken Ones

by smallquestionsasked



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Gratuitous Coffee Drinking, I dream of romance for this, No Alpha Pack, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Season/Series 02, Rating to be updated, eventually, whether the muse allows it or not is another deal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-02-24 04:13:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13205721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallquestionsasked/pseuds/smallquestionsasked
Summary: Know this, curious creatures:I breathe your air, I know your painAnd from this pooled blood, the truth will be found in the pale moonlightThere's something dark coming their way, hunting through the underbrush and utterly merciless. Beacon Hills is aptly named, for it calls to all manner of creatures; those seeking power, and those seeking retribution. Will this time be any different?





	1. Chapter 1

When Scott McCall woke up to his alarm on monday morning, it was to the frightening realisation that he forgot to do his spanish homework, again. Normally, he’d throw himself into a minor panic, as the class was right after lunch and he had easily half a chapter’s worth of work to do, and he was borderline failing, but that weekend had been too chaotic to do much but plan and sleep. Jackson was still having issues controlling his wolf side, even with the help of the group. The blended “pack” tried all manner of things, from an attempt at exhausting the teen to meditation, but he couldn’t seem to find his anchor. He had enough of a handle to be supposedly okay at the school, (because highschool, right, how stressful could that be) but between himself, Stiles, and Isaac, lacrosse practice was going to be fun to try to manage.

The secondary alarm went off, forcing Scott to hit the snooze and roll himself out of his single bed. He stretched as he headed to grab the towel off the back of his door, heading across the hall to the washroom he and his mother shared. She was on nights for the remainder of the month, so Scott would be seeing her come in just as he was about to leave. The scalding water took the last of the sleep from his system, washing away the sweat and dirt from last night. The pack was out until nearly 1 am running drills, and by the time Scott had rolled into his bed, it was almost 2, sheets be damned. He was going to need coffee to fight the remaining exhaustion. The only upside to all of this was that at least everyone else would be as tired as he was currently. The sun started to peek through the window, reminding Scott that he still had to grab food and make said coffee, so he rinsed off the last of the shampoo and shut off the water, hissing when his foot made contact with the cold tile. Wiping the steam from the medium sized mirror above the vanity, Scott check out his appearance, trying to ignore the bags under his eyes, and watched as amber bled into his usual brown, glowing in the reflection. He took his palms and dug them into his sockets, breathing until he could feel the glowing fading, turning to his room to get dressed. Fifteen minutes later found him dressed in front of the coffee maker, sullen as it putt-putted slowly to fill the small pot. When it had reached an agreeable line, he dislodged the thing and filled his mom’s favourite mug, light blue with a red handprint, made from when Scott must have been about a year old, stirring in sugar to take the bitterness of pre-ground store coffee away. He heard the engine before he saw it through the window, his mother’s small blue car creeping over the tarmac, jolting as it tried to stop, and idling a second before being turned off. Melissa McCall pulled herself from the vehicle, exhaustion apparent even from the distance away Scott was. He heard the key turn in the lock, the hinges squeaking in greeting, and smelled the early morning rain as it swept through the front hall.

“Morning sweetie.”

Scott smiled and returned his mother’s tired greeting. He considered offering her something to drink, but the poor woman was dead on her feet, so he just threw her another smile as she walked into the kitchen, yawning into her palm. She dropped her bag off on the counter, ruffling her son’s hair as she went into the cupboard for a glass of water. The bags under her eyes were stark against her normally fair complexion, and her hair seemed to be extra frizzy today.

“Everything okay mom?” asked Scott, head pitched to the side, smelling the sour antiseptic and other general hospital smells on her. She also smelled of utter exhaustion and just a bit of blood. 

“Mmm, yeah sweetie, just had a rough night. Multi-car pile up was sent to us, so I had to forgo two of my breaks. I just need to sleep for a few hours, and I’ll be good as new.”

Melissa reached over to give her son a quick face pat, turning when she heard the sharp honk-honk coming from the front of the house.

“That’ll be Stiles. Get to school you, we can talk more when you get home.”

Scott proceeded to chug the remainder of his brew and planted a quick kiss on his mom’s cheek. He grabbed his bag and the pb&j on the counter, shoving what was left in his mouth as he ran out the door, a slightly garbled “Love you!” thrown over his shoulder as he ran to the front door. The jeep was stopped on the street, pulled over so that Scott could grab the passenger door and hop in with ease. True, he could have easily run to the school with scarcely ten minutes to spare, but normal humans found the couple mile trip exhausting. 

An alternative rock station was blaring, Stiles drumming along to the music on his steering wheel when Scott finally got his seatbelt buckled. Stiles honked twice in quick succession to Mrs. McCall who was standing in the door, waving the two off. They sped down the street, towards another weird day that was slowly becoming the norm for their lives. Scott hummed along with the tune, volume a tad too high for his sensitive hearing, but it was catchy. 

They pulled into the school’s parking lot, finding an open space next to Jackson’s porsche and Erica’s bright red truck. The other members of the “pack” were present, yawning into hands and textbooks, slurping sugary caffeine and energy drinks in hopes of making it through the day. Stiles gave a quick fistbump to Issac, and the collective teens all headed towards the door. Their little group had grown over the last few months, also including new humans, because of course Jackson wouldn’t be able to not tell Danny everything, and Lydia was too smart not to figure something out. So, the pseudo-friend group walked through the halls, everyone moving back as the pack separated at the first branch, pairing off as they all went to their morning classes, knowledge already settling that they would meet for lunch at their table. Scott’s locker was in the math hall, so he headed towards that way, smiling when he saw Allison waiting next to it. Scott felt that little part of himself go warm and soft when he saw her smile, eyes warm and filled with chocolate. Her grabbed her hand and squeezed it when he could, mindful that she wasn’t a huge fan of PDA. Her smile alone was enough for him though. 

Her free hand rose to cover a delicate yawn, and Scott chuckled. “You tired too?” Her nod was an almost absent addition. On top of schoolwork and “pack” meetings, her father was training her extremely hard, in part to help her forget her grief over her mother, but also so she can one day slip into Victoria Argent’s now vacant shoes. Hunter training consisted of a lot of strength training, obstacle courses, knife work, guns, and her handy crossbow. Scott could smell the oil used to clean the small knife she had started keeping in her boot.

Although not quite in words, Derek Hale had made his apology known to the Argents and to Allison about what had happened with Victoria. Although many hunters were vocal about retribution being needed, Chris was adamant about keeping the peace, justifying his words with action. It was Victoria who had impeached their new truce, and who had chosen to take her own life rather than become a wolf. Allison was hurting, she would be for a very long time, but she did not blame Derek. It didn’t mean she fully trusted him though. 

The first bell alerted the teens that they had precious few minutes to spare, so with a lingering look and unspoken promises to see her in second period, Scott makes his way down the hall to Gen. Science, taking his seat at the usual bench, reaching into his bag for the blue notebook and a pen. A substitute walks in, introducing herself, and starts roll call. By now Scott has zoned out, but replies when his name is called regardless. The lecture drags on, and the ticking of the classroom clock seems to be slow and unmoving. Scott can just tell today is going to be swell. 

***

English is second period, still equally as dull, but Allison sits beside him, so there’s that at least. Time goes by faster, and the lunch bell rings while Scott is zoned out again thinking about how lovely Allison’s hair looks in the sun today. The two hold hands as they exit the classroom, heading towards the cafeteria where they see the remainder of their group already seat sans Stiles. He has a farther commute, upstairs at the far end of the hallway. 

Danny and Isaac are comparing notes for a class, the human correcting the confused wolf as he explains something math related to him. Lydia never eats caf food, instead having something delivered to her daily. Today it seems to be sushi, the sharp scent of ginger having every wolf nose twitching. Erica is redoing her nails while Boyd reads something on his phone to her, her laughter loud and cheerful, ringing like silver bells. Scott offers to stand in line for his and Allison’s lunches, something she agrees on immediately and squeezes his hand in thanks. She takes the open seat next to Lydia, who offers her a piece of salmon sashimi in greeting. 

Today’s specials aren’t that special, but he knows Allison doesn’t like spicy things, so he forgoes the chilli. He hears Stiles before he sees him, the human having bumped into someone and was apologizing as he bumped into someone else. He cuts in front of the girl behind Scott, responding to the affronted “Hey!” with a “Sorry, sorry, best friend, saving me a spot, ain't that right, buddy-o’pal-o’friend-of-mine?”

Scott can only give the glaring girl a sheepish grin, beckoning for the human to stand beside him. The girl is a freshman so she doesn’t put up a fight, just glares daggers into the back of Stiles’ skull. 

“So, I’ve been thinking,” starts Stiles. Scott gives a noncommittal noise for him to continue, browsing the various mashes that Lunchlady Hildegard has lovingly prepared for them. That one smells like chicken, even if it doesn’t look like chicken, maybe Allison would like that? “I’ve been thinking that even though I love being the guy with the bat, don’t get me wrong, it’s great, right up there with being the guy in the chair, but maybe I should start taking fighting lessons of some kind. I’ve go to say, being paralyzed on the floor with you-know-who wasn’t a great experience. Gotta make sure it doesn’t happen again. So, jujitsu or muay-thai?”

Scott pauses his pondering to look at his best friend of just short of a decade. Sure, Stiles was slowly building on some muscle, he was part of the lacrosse team after all, but he wasn’t a big guy by any means at all. Although the thought of him being a martial arts master reminded him of when they were 9, play fighting, and Stiles had tried to go in for a roundhouse kick, only to launch himself off of the back porch onto the cement, breaking his wrist. 

“Uhh, maybe that’s not the best idea dude.”

“What? Of course it is!”

“Dude, I’m not saying self-defense lessons aren’t a good idea, but up against, you know…” he leans in forwards, mouth almost touching Stiles’ ear “werewolves,” leans back, “I’m not sure how much help they would be.”

“Oh, ye of little faith. I could make it work, just trust me.”

“Uhuh, sure dude.” It was Scott’s turn to order, so he ordered two of the chicken things, salads, and bottles of water. He paid and waited off to the side while Stiles tried to barter with Hildegard in regards to getting something “off menu”. In response she spooned something grey onto his try and pushed it to the side, ignoring his squawk of protest. The freshman from earlier smirked triumphantly and ordered pizza. 

“I swear I must've done something in a past life to anger that woman.”

“You sure it wasn’t just something you did this life Stilinski?” taunted Jackson, enhanced hearing of course picking up that little debacle. Erica and Isaac snickered in response. 

“Ah yes, the joyous gift that is comradery, friendship in its truest form. You guys are just great.”

“Shut up and eat your soup Stiles,” snipped Lydia, pausing from her talk with Allison to shoot the freckled teen a glare.

Said teen look at the slightly gelatinous good on his tray.

“This is soup?!”

Scott sat next to his lady-love, handing her food, inner wolf preening at the look of adoration she shot him in return. She tried to grab her coin purse to pay him back but he grabbed her hands and kissed them instead. “Don’t worry about it.” She didn’t quite understand his wolf’s need to provide for her, they hadn’t quite had that talk yet, but she smiled and accepted it. They sat hip-to-hip, his hand on her knee almost protectively while he shovelled the casserole in his mouth, Stiles still going on about the unfairness of just asking for a slightly healthier alternative, or in his words “anything other than what is out here, please.”

After a while it was Boyd that noticed Jackson starting to twitch. He shot the other man a kind look, and nudged McCall’s feet, eyes shooting to his left. The teen was starting to grimace, eyes looking a much more vibrant blue than before. His breathing had deepened and his hands were clenched in tight fists. 

“Hey, Jackson, I need you to look at me. Talk to me man.”

“I- I don’t know, things just got so much sharper all of a sudden. I can hear Monique Freeman laughing from here, smell her, it’s all I can focus on. I know her perfume, it’s one my aunt wears. I just, I can’t…” Blood starts to trickle from his fists, slowly pittering on the white surface of the table. Allison takes off her cardigan and places it under Jackson’s hands, the burgundy acting as the perfect camouflage. 

“Dude, I need you to focus on the here, the now. Listening to us, our breathing. Now the sounds of our hearts. When the world becomes too loud, when it becomes all white noise, focus on the steady sound. It means pack, it means family. Focus.”  
It takes a few moments, but no one pays their table any attention, oblivious to the potential crisis that could have happened. When Jackson opens his eyes, they’re back to their handsome blue-grey, and breathes a sigh of relief. The table joins him. The humans share quick look of understanding. That could have gone very badly.

When Jackson unfurls his palms, the bloodied crescents are already healing. He gives Allison’s cardigan a pinched look and coughs into his palms, a muttered “I’ll replace it” directed her way. She just smiles and waves her one hand, just glad she could help. A bell goes off, alerting the staff and students that the lunch period will be ending in five minutes, and that they better head to their respective classes. Nearly the entire caf rises out of their seats, trays scrapping as garbage and recycling goes into the correct bins and the trays sit in the collection depot. Stiles catches the eyes of Lunchlady Hildegard and blows her a kiss, watches as she flusters and raises a fist at him. 

“One day Stilinski, you are going to find something utterly horrifying in your food, and when you ask the universe why you deserved this, I’m going to reference this exact moment.”

“Shut up Isaac.”


	2. Chapter 2

Although the unsaid agreement was that they were to meet on the weekends, Jackson’s little freakout at lunch had Scott on alert, so before everyone left at the final bell, all the wolves agreed to meet in the preserve to run with Jackson, further establish the pack lines and sense of family. Most had curfew around 10-11, so they agreed for 7 on the Hale property. Lacrosse practice ran from 2:45- 5:15, so everyone would have enough time to drive home (or run), eat, and meet up. Finstock had the team split in two to run drills and mock rallies, pitting half the wolves against half the pack, with Danny of goal. Even though the final game of the season was over and done with, the coach was adamant about staying on top of things, insistent that “by the end of the summer, [they] will all be fat, lazy, bags of hormones who will have forgotten everything.” So: drills. 

Anytime Jackson got too riled up, Isaac or Scott would be there, knocking him down, whispering so that only he could hear, and giving support. At one point the blond wolf had barreled into another player hard enough that it took both Scott and Isaac dogpilling him to get him under control. Greenburg left with a decent limp in his right leg, letting Stiles actually onto the field.   
The obliviousness of humans worked in everybody's favour, the coach more concerned that the boys all do the maneuvers he taught vs actually having their heads in practice. 

A final whistle at 5:15 sent the boys off to the locker rooms to shower off the athletic sweat and pure aggression they were radiating. Jackson had calmed down, letting the spray run over his sore muscles as the other members of the team washed up and dressed to head home. Scott had since finished showering and was toweling his hair dry, one ear pointed towards the showers in the event Jackson needed minding. Stiles stood from where he was tying his shoes, waving a hand in front of Scott’s face when the teen didn’t immediately acknowledge him.

“So, I was thinking…”

“Careful Stilinski, you’ll hurt yourself!” 

“Shut up, Isaac! Anyways, since you’re not all for the ju-jitsu, how about we start simple? Since there is no way in hell I can match you guys on free weights, how about cardio? We could start running.”

Scott looked up at his best friend. 

“That… is actually a very good idea. We can get your stamina up for moon-runs.”

Thoughts of the past full moon flooded Scott’s mind, Stiles trying to keep up with half a dozen werewolves playing the most aggressive form of tag in known existence. By the halfway point of the night he’d been utterly fatigued, Scott having to piggyback him to the bonfire the humans were having so he could sleep for a few hours. Allison’s hair had been down, the fire bringing out the natural reds of her dark brown hair, perfect for his enhanced sight to see. She had smiled as Danny told a story about his last trip back to Hawaii to see his Uncle Max, a semi-professional surfer and all around crazy guy. The man claimed to have survived a shark attack with only a fishing hook and his wits, to which Danny illustrated with vigour. Stiles snoring part ways through the story had the rest of the teens laughing, mirth so thick through the air you could taste it. 

Pale fingers wave in front of Scott’s face yet again until he can focus on Stiles’ less than pleased look. 

“You did it again.”

“Sorry man,” Scott called after the retreating figure. Danny was next to Jackson who seemed his usual smug self, so considering everything good, Scott decided to follow Stiles out of the room. The other teen was slouched under his large bag, lacrosse stick almost lazily placed over his shoulder. 

“Dude.”

Scott tried to smile, guilt stirring in his gut. 

“I said I was sorry.”

“Uhuh,” called the other teen, but let Scott catch up to him and walk to the jeep. They enjoyed the brief silence, the sounds of spring prevalent in the air, birds chirping and children calling out in the distance. When they rounded the building to the student parking lot, they saw it practically empty, save for a few second hand vehicles, and Jackson’s ostentatious porsche. The hopped into Stiles’ jeep and tore from the lot, excited to get the stink of school off of them.

A few moments of silence ended with Scott’s musing. 

“So, the year is ending…”

“Yes, it is,” replied Stiles.

“And we’re going to be juniors next year.”

“Again, sweet freedom is in our grasps.”

“What are the chances the summer, and by extension our next year, is going to be as crazy as the last few months have been?”

The jeep came to a screeching halt, but luckily they were driving down a side street, so traffic was nonexistent. 

Stiles shot Scott a look of utter horror.

“Dude! First rule of the universe! Never jinx shit!”

The other teen reared back, shocked at the volume Stiles could reach and ears ringing in sensitivity. He clapped both hands over them, trying to block out the rest of the rant. It took another car having to swerve around them and honk ferociously for the jeep to start moving again.

“-you know better man! Every horror movie, every thriller, it's always the same question! ‘Well, at least things can’t get any worse?’ Oh my god yes it can!”

“Okay! Okay! I’m sorry!” whined the wolf, ears still ringing slightly. 

“So, what have you learned from this?”

“Not to question shit.”

“Perfect. Now, here’s your place. I still have to go to the grocery store. We’re out of kale.”

“Ugh. Yeah, okay, I’ll text you later tonight, keep you updated on how the thing with Jackson goes.” Scott grabbed his bag from the trunk and headed to the front door, waving over his shoulder when he heard the distinct double honk of Stiles’ jeep leaving. He grabbed the key from his pocket and unlocked the front door, the scent of lasagna greeting him in the front hall. 

“Mom, I’m home,” he calls through the front hall, toeing his shoes off and dumping his bag unceremoniously on the floor. He heard steps from upstairs in the western part of the house, so his mom was most likely changing into her uniform. She was on nights again, so she would be leaving in the next half an hour. The timer went off on the stove, so Scott walked over, stuck mitts on, and grabbed the dish. There was also a pot of mixed vegetables boiling on the stovetop, so he grabbed a strainer and emptied the vaguely green smelling water down the drain, returning the greens to the pot and mixing some butter in. He cut two portions of lasagna and put them on the plates, with a healthy scoop of greens to accompany each. Balancing the warm porcelain on his forearms, he grabbed some cutlery and set them in their usual spots, heading back to the kitchen to grab glasses of water and napkins. 

Scott had just sat down when he heard the steps of his mother come down the stairs, the exhaustion from earlier mostly gone, but she will have another long shift ahead of her tonight.

Melissa McCall was a beautiful woman, everyone with eyes could see that. She was practical most of all, working hard and long shifts as a nurse at the local hospital, hair always tied back, lines starting to crease from her eyes, but she was always smiling. She didn’t have time for paltry things, for vanity and its supposed necessities. She made do with what life had given her: a young babe, a neglectful husband, and a difficult job. 

However, it’s moments like this, where she sees the one love in her life, not quite a boy any longer but still not quite a man; sitting, smiling as she walks into the room, with eyes that light up like the sun. This is why she works tirelessly; through the shifts no one wants in a town she hadn’t heard of before she was required to come here, she works so he can smile that carefree smile she first fell in love with when he was but a babe, still feeding from her breast. 

Scott watches as his mother sits at the head of their little table, smiling at him as she cut into her first bite of dinner. Ever mindful of the time, she eats as she works, with a steady beat and no time wasted. It goes unsaid that he will handle the dishes and the clean-up, so Melissa kisses her son on the forehead, grabs her bag and keys, and leaves for another 12 hour shift, potentially longer if the night is cruel.

***  
As Scott watches the blue car reverse from the driveway, he leaps to start on the cleanup, mindful of the time. He has to meet the others in half an hour, so he rushes through filling the dishwasher and setting the timer so it can run after eight pm. He jumps up the stairs, skipping two at a time, and heads to his room to plug his phone in for a few minutes while he runs to the washroom and gets ready. 

With fifteen minutes to spare, Scott shuts down the house, locks the front and back doors, and heads into the woods that bracket his backyard. He waits a few minutes until he clears the tree line before he finally taps into that well beneath his skin. He can feel the shift, feel the muscles pull and stretch, feel the way his face contorts. His sight becomes sharper, taking in the smallest details, the soft tracks of a hare that has a warren not too far from here. He can hear the rushing of the creek thats about a mile to the east, the silence of the world as the sun sets and the moon rises. He can feel the wind as it rushes over his body, as it carries different sounds and scents to him. This is it. He’s ready.

He launches himself forward, feels the power beneath his skin as he runs, runs like he wishes he could at any point in time. The trees blurr by him as he launches himself off of the dirt trails into the underbrush. His steps are in time with his breathing, his blood pounding in his ears and his feet pound against the foliage. He eats up miles quicker than any human could ever hope of dreaming to, all without the major fatigue. The absolute euphoria of the moment has him shooting up a tree and launching himself from the crest of one tree into the next, laughing and halloring into the evening. Eventually he reaches a pasture that forces him to run along the ground again, so he can rebuild his speed. 

Another two minutes has him hearing similar footsteps, and he gets no warning as another body volleys into him, toppling him over. Immediate scent recognition says it’s pack, more specifically Isaac. The two tussle on the ground, yipping as they wrestle below a large oak. Scott eventually pins the blond who shows his throat in defeat, semi-humanoid features laughing as he tries to buck Scott off after a minute. Erica and Boyd crash through the tree line with Jackson at their heels, and the five play like pups in the clearing, try to work off any excess energy. 

A loud bark echoes through the clearing and the teens look up to see a large black wolf trot into the clearing, eyes sharp and intelligent. 

Scott walks up to the alpha, mindful, but respectful. He dips his head back, showing his throat, ever careful not to challenge him. Just because he feels some semblance of a bond with the other teen wolves doesn’t mean he is comfortable with Derek as the ringleader behind all of this. The wolf in front snorts once in acknowledgement and goes to sit on some comfortable looking moss, supervising the “playdate” as he has been known to call these gatherings. 

Scott turns to the others and starts to lower himself on all four and growls mockingly, challenging the rest to keep up. He shoots off to the left, leaving the others to chase him as he does laps, volleying off of stumps and catapulting from low hanging branches as he manages to keep out of everyone's grasp for what must have been for about two hours. Eventually it’s Erica who hides in a tree and drops into his back, pushing his face into the dirt and baying playfully, winning the game. 

The moon has risen to its zenith when the group stops to catch their breath, drinking from a small local brooke and splashing each other. Scott, Erica, and Isaac have taken to laying beneath the stars while Boyd gets Jackson to try and tackle him. Jackson may have sports experience, but Boyd is big and steady, barely moving an inch for every attempt the blond teen makes. After a while Jackson growls in irritation and Boyd merely clips his head, muttering to him to “keep your head in the game.”

When Scott pulls his phone from his back pocket, the time reveals to be nearly 11, so he gets up and stretches and whistles.

“Okay, we’ve got school in like 9 hours guys. I’m heading home.”

Derek rises from where he hasn’t moved and yips, alerting the rest that their playdate was over. Erica, Boyd, and Isaac will run with him, while Jackson, who took his car out, wil head that way. The group each nod to each other as they head their separate ways. 

The night is serene, so Scott finds himself walking home, features human. The last dozen miles he jogs, reaching home around midnight. He lets himself into the house and gets a glass of water before he heads upstairs to collapse on his bed. Utter contentment floods his system as he drains his drink, disrobes, and bundles himself under his favourite comforter. The scents of home, mom, and laundry detergent fill his nose as he drifts off, surrendering himself into oblivion. 

When the alarm blares at just after 6, Scott is groggy, running on too little sleep, and keenly remembers his homework. 

That he didn’t do.

Again.


	3. Chapter 3

The rest of the week follows pretty much the same pattern for each different person. Wake up, get ready, coffee, food (if there’s time), and get to school. Jackson’s episodes become non existent, and Scott manages to get his Spanish done at about 3:15 am the morning it’s due. The whole pack is sleep deprived, chugging back lethal amounts of caffeine in an attempt to fight the heavy clouds of exhaustion that seem to follow them. 

It’s on the Thursday morning before the exam week starts that Lydia suggests a study group, pairing the stronger and weaker students in each subject. She, of course, will be in charge of mathematics. They all agree to meet up at Scott’s place, as his mother was still on nights and the place would be free of curious ears in the event that “other topics” come up in conversation. 

Friday night rolls around, and both Scott and Stiles have set up the McCall’s living room with chips and soda, grabbing as many extra pillows and blankets as they can find, trying to make the space more accommodating for the number of people that are expected. The assorted teens start to trickle in around 5:30, and soon almost every inch of the room is covered in people. 

“I’m ordering a couple of pizzas, what does everyone want?” calls Scott over the initial rambling. Several answers are thrown at him at once, but he gets a general idea, so he dials the local pizza place.

“Yeah, hey, can I get 6 extra large meat lovers pizzas, 1 large pepperoni, 2 medium vegetarians, one with pineapple on it-”

“Seriously Danny, pineapple on pizza?”

“I don’t want to hear it from you Stilinski.”

“-and 3 dozen honey barbecue wings. Oh, and garlic bread. Uh, yeah, that should just about cover it. Does the 30 minutes or less thing still count with large orders? Yeah? Perfect. Thanks.”

Scott took his place on the couch next to Allison, who was reading through notes on Romeo and Juliet for their English exam. Erica was lounging in Boyd’s arms, scrolling through stuff on her phone while he quietly rapped through the periodic table of elements, to which Isaac is looking more and more perplexed on how he is even able to do it. The group actually managed to get some studying done, with Lydia in charge and helping in seemingly every subject. When the door rings 25 minutes later, Scott opens it to find a set of hands holding easily a dozen greasy boxes, the scent summoning the other wolves to help carry everything into the living room. The face behind the boxes reads out the total, and Jackson pushes Scott out of the way to pay with a shiny black card, telling McCall to “shut it” when he tries to thank him for that. 

With little surprise the meat-lovers are the first to go, but Danny’s “monstrosity” (Shut it Stiles, it’s good!) stays safe, mostly untouched by the grey recliner that the teen has claimed for himself. 

Hours pass like this, harmless, and oddly normal. Everyone is in a comfortable enough place to actually focus, and Scott looks at his little ragtag group with almost pride. 

When the moon is high enough, Scott notices all the wolves getting a little fidgety, himself included. Stiles is lying on the carpet with his math textbook open and covering his face, breathing slowed to the point that Scott realizes the other teen is asleep. The hour is late, and everyone is running on too little sleep to stay focused for much longer. The clear skies call to the ragtag group, so with a dramatic snap, Scott shuts his book and stands. Those still awake turn to him and see how he cracks his neck back and forth, rolling his shoulders to fight the fatigue that has almost become a second skin to him. 

Isaac notices the little gleam in his eyes first and jumps up with a cheer, waking the sleeping humans around him. Stiles flails all available limbs and tries to wipe the drool that has migrated from his lips to the bottom of his chin, elbowing Lydia’s calf sharply, earning a grunt in return when her stockinged foot goes for his head. 

“We’ve done good. We actually studied a fair amount, but it’s a Friday night and we’re not currently fighting for our lives, so let’s go do something fun. Who’s up for a swim?”

The response was vocal, with Erica mock howling and Danny stomping his feet. Every one stands to shake off the last of the sleepiness, stretching even though they still need to drive to the ravine before any fun can actually start. A quick clean up has the living room looking normal, dishes in the sink and cushions and blankets back on the appropriate beds and in their closets. The group agree to take two vehicles, deciding on Erica’s truck and Lydia’s car, and with the house properly locked up, the teens squeeze into whichever vehicle has space and off they drive. Danny remembers last minute to remind Scott to grab towels, so he searches the closet for every single beach towel the McCalls own. The colourful stack is thrown in the back of Lydia’s car.

The May air is balmy, promising the warmth of summer is soon in their grasps. The car windows are down as they drive, only going faster once they pass all the known speed traps. Werewolf reflexes ensure safety in the truck, but Lydia’s intuition has never failed them, so they know they’re safe in her hands. The dirt road to the ravine and abandoned quarry is quiet as they slow to sneak down it, pulling off and parking far enough from the road they won’t be spotted by any casual onlookers. Trunks are opened and pre-packed bags are pulled out, each filled with a clean change of clothing. The air may be warm, but that doesn’t mean the large reservoir of water will be. 

The drop is sheer, something only the most brave or foolhardy people would try. Or, a handful of adolescent werewolves. From it’s focal point amongst the stars, the moon seems to watch them, watches as the teens grin with determination. 

Walking to the edge of the cliff, Stiles looks at the dark water below, swallowing loud enough for the weres around him to hear. Jackson walks up behind him, looking over his shoulder at the drop, kicking a pebble into the darkness below. 

“Long way down, huh Stilinski?”

“Yea- what wait no put me down!” he shrieks, his voice echoing off of the pale rockface. The blonde smirks as he holds the other teen aloft, the rest of the group snickering at the human’s reaction. Danny walks over and pivots on his bare feet, watching the crowd. The smile he gives is charming, heartwarming, and with a loud hollar he falls backwards, trusting the air. There’s a sharp whistle of displaced air, than a loud splash as he hits the water, coming up a minute later. He’s laughing, loud and carefree from where he can see Stiles still in Jackson’s arms. Done with his little game, the large blond hurls the skinny human off the edge and jumps in after him. The next minute is filled with similar sounds of joy and splashes. The moon gives enough light off that all can see when the wolves showoff, showboating flips and dives into the oddly warm water below. The climb up is usually longer, but claws and superior strength make it no chore for the betas to scale the cliff freehand, pushing off the limestone with strong back legs and launching themselves forwards.

Boyd grabs Lydia by her waist and braces himself in one of the shallows by the edge, hunching down before he tosses her nearly fifteen feet in the air. The redhead is caught off guard, shrieking in surprise before her laughter is cut off by the splash of her landing in a deeper part of the lake. Scott smiles at Allison and brunette laughs, swimming over to him, taking his hand in the moonlight. His hands caress down her side slowly, the skin pebbling beneath his fingertips. With quick reflexes her flings her upward and time slows. Water droplets are suspended around the tendrils of her hair and the moon is lost in her dark eyes. There’s no fear here, just joy and youth and all the unspoiled things that come with it. 

Allison is easy for Scott to catch, and he holds her close, resting her forehead against his as the two breath in tandem, the rest of the pack splashing and baying around them.

In the distance, a black wolf watches sagely, hidden in the shadows and far enough away to not intrude. He does not leave for many hours, until the moon slips deeper into the sky and the teenagers yawn past their euphoria. Bodies are dried and warm clothing is put on, hugs are exchanged and goodbyes are said as Erica, Isaac, Boyd, and Jackson head towards Derek’s loft, while Lydia drives the humans and Scott back to his place where they’ll separate. 

The house is quiet when they pull up, so Scott and Stiles hop out. Allison, who had been sitting in the front, leans out her window when Scott travels around the car to her. The skin on her face is smooth and warm in his palm, and wants to kiss her, starts to lean in, but her eyes flick to Lydia in the driver’s seat so he stops himself and huffs out a breath. He whispers to her instead.

“Tomorrow?”

Her smile is small and shy.

“Tomorrow.”

Lydia coughs not that discreetly and Allison pulls away and rolls up her window. The two plus Danny in the back drive away near silent, leaving one pining wolf on the doorstep of his own house. Stiles barely gives him a moment before he starts tapping his foot impatiently, gesturing to the locked front door with said foot as his hands are filled with soiled and damp towels. Scott considers giving him an apologetic smile, but he’s in too good of a mood for that. 

The day had been perfect, with the night holding promise. 

They had a weekend ahead of them, and nothing untoward had happened yet.

Scott unlocked the door and let Stiles walk in first, tuning him out as he turned to look at the chunk of the moon still visible in the sky.

_Please._ He didn’t know who he was talking to, or even if anyone was listening.

_Please let this not end._


	4. Chapter 4

The scent of bacon wafts through the air, the oily distinctive smell a siren’s call to the two hungry teenagers who were sleeping up until that point. Scott sits up in his bed, blanket and sheet pooling around his waist as he cocks his head to the side, listening to the familiar footsteps of his mother walking through their small kitchen. The creak of the fridge opening and the rustle of cardboard (grabbing eggs maybe?) are a contrast to the mumbles of Stiles, awake enough at the prospect of food, but still sleepy from their nighttime shenanigans. Scott stands from his bed and walks to his tallboy, sidestepping the huge pile of soiled towels to pull a clean shirt out. On his way back to the bedside table to grab his phone, he nudges Stiles with his foot. The other teen lets out an “oof” before rolling over, trying to pull himself out of the blanket burrito he managed to make in his sleep.  
“The kick wasn’t necessary. The tantalizing aroma of cooked bacon had summoned me like a lover’s call you know.”  
“Wasn’t risking it. Also, where was this poetic prose when I needed help with my freshman poetry assignment?”  
“Only best friends who offer bacon and curly fries get to access my hidden talents.”  
Phone in hand, Scott left Stiles to his morning rituals, checking his email and shooting Allison a ‘good morning’ text. His feet took the stairs with the muscle memory resulting from living in the same house for almost a decade, and soon enough he was strolling into the bright kitchen, stopping only to kiss his mom on the cheek. She passed him a mug filled with the second most enticing aroma (bacon still held the championship), already done how he liked it. The first sip cleaned the stale taste from his mouth, and the second sent a shock of energy through his frame. The mug was halfway empty before Stiles made his way downstairs making grabby hands at the percolator, only stopping to grab a mug from its cabinet. Melissa shot the teen an unamused look, but a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, already used to normal weekend morning Stiles behaviour.   
“Alright, sit down boys,” ordered the matriarch, shoveling heaps of scrambled eggs onto two separate plates, placing bacon next to the miniature mountains. She carried both plates easily and placed them before the boys, kissing her son’s head when she turned back to place the remnants on her plate.  
Stiles was already shovelling heaps into his mouth, only stopping to chug down the sweet concoction he called coffee. Scott was a bit more polite, waiting until his mother had sat down with her food and own cup of coffee before he started in on his food with just as much vigour.  
“Wow, studying lead to that much of an appetite?”  
Scott shot his mum an almost guilty look.  
“Did you guys at least study a bit before you went out?”  
“Yeah, for nearly 4 hours… but we got antsy.”  
“Un-huh.”  
Melissa McCall was not a dumb woman, she remembered what it was like being a teenager, knew the itch of being in skin that was just a size too small.   
“Just promise me there was no property damage.”  
“No worries there Ms. McCall.”  
“That doesn’t quite put me at ease Stiles.”  
Rather than answering, the bespeckled teen fills his mouth with food, chewing like a man on a mission.  
After everyone is finished, Melissa leaves the boys to do the dishes and heads upstairs to get ready. Her schedule is swapping, so she’ll be on days for the next few weeks, and needs to alter her internal clock. Best way to go about that she has found has been to fill her days off with chores and alarms, so she gets ready to head to the bank and other menial tasks.   
Scott shares a look with Stiles but is waylaid by his phone going off, Allison’s name popping up on the caller ID. He grabs the phone to answer, leaving Stiles with the washing as he heads into the other room.  
“Hey,” he answers. Does he sound breathless?  
“Hey,” she responds in that tinny voice of someone on the phone.  
“Is everything okay?”  
“Yup! Just making sure we’re still on for tonight.”  
“Of course. What were you thinking, movies at the drive-in maybe? Or dining out?”  
Allison is quiet from her end, until she makes a long strung out sound.   
“Surprise me,” she finally says, and Scott can’t help but smile.  
“I’ve got the perfect idea. So, I’ll pick you up at 5:30?”  
“I can’t wait. Fancy, or casual dress?”  
“Jeans and a t shirt should be perfect. I’ve got to go, I need to finish drying the dishes before Stiles has a fit. I’ll see you in a few hours. Bye.”  
“Bye,” Allison calls out, hanging up.  
When Scott waltzes back into the room, Stiles looks him over with the look, making kissy noises in his general direction.   
“You know, from someone who is perpetually single, it’s almost gross how nice your relationship seems. Highschool sweethearts, with a dash of the supernatural and a smidgen of family based tragedy. Like Romeo and Juliet, but with more communication and less unnecessary suicide.”  
“Yeah, let’s pull a note from Ms. Sheridan’s lessons and not bring about unnecessary foreshadowing, yeah?” Scott quipped, sour taste settling in his mouth at Stiles’ remark.  
Stiles shrugged his shoulders with no abandon, stepping away from the pile of dishes scrubbed and towered precariously on the dish towel… the same one Scott had been using. The teen stepped away with a smirk, leaving Scott to hunt down a new towel and hand dry all the dishes. Scott threw his eyes skyward, beseeching patience, if anyone was listening. 

***

Stiles headed home, citing further studying and cooking for his dad as his excuse. It worked for Scott, as he had his own plans to make for the day. The hours were counting down until he’d see Allison again, and he had a lot to prepare.   
Saturday chores included cleaning and vacuuming, all things he does with his little gift once Melissa has vacated the house. The pinesol is harsh on his senses, but his mom loves the smell, so he goes about his duties quickly. All done, he showers off the layer of adolescent sweat that always seems to be following him and brushes his teeth, throwing out texts as he walks. Everything okay on his end, he gets dressed, ears perking when he picks up his mom returning. She’s brought groceries, so he slips shoes on to help her carry everything in and help put things away. Now, for the moment of truth.  
“Hey mom?”  
Melissa looks up from where she’s placing vegetables in the fridge to her son, taking in his straight posture and flighty fidgeting hands. She squints her eyes at him.  
“Yes…?”  
“Can I borrow the car tonight?”  
The brunette maintains eye contact, taking in his freshly shaved face, matching socks, and slight waft of cologne.  
“You have a date tonight, don’t you?”  
Scott tried to give her a cheeky grin. It doesn’t work.  
“Scott McCall, you have exams in two days! What were you thinking?”  
“Please mom, I’ve got everything set up! And I’ll be back before curfew.”  
Taking her thumb and index finger, she pinches the bridge of her nose between the digits, inhaling sharply. Warm brown eyes stare as her forlornly, bottom lip starting to pout. Her shoulders drop and she exhales loudly, looking at her son.  
“If I let you do this, you are home no later than 10:30, and you have to spend your entire Sunday studying. That means no xbox, no computer unless for research means, and no Stiles, got it?”  
The teen bounced on his heels before running and giving his mother a hug and loud kiss on her cheek.  
“You are the best mother in the world and I love you. Thank-you!”  
“Uhuh, do I need to give you ‘the talk’ again?”  
“Nope,” called out the teen, popping the ‘p’ as he turned and ran up the stairs, taking them three at a time. Melissa reached over and took the keys out of her purse, laying them on the kitchen counter next to the coffee maker. Scott would find them at some point in time. She had a date with the couch and a one hour nap so she could sleep a regular amount tonight.   
***  
Scott takes deep breaths as he pulls up in front of the Argent’s large house. A swish from the living room curtains sets his heart beating, and it soars when the door opens and reveals Allison in light wash jeans and a green tshirt with a dark jacket slung over one arm. Scott doesn’t miss the way Chris Argent stares from the doorway, face stoic but eyes filled with slight malice. He’s thrown from his musings when the small sedan’s passenger door is opened and the scent of sunlight and vanilla surrounds him.  
“Hi,” he breathes.  
“Hi yourself,” the light of his world answers.  
Even from inside the car, Scott can hear the deep voice of Allison’s father.  
“No later than 9, McCall.”  
The two sets of eyes meet, and Scott nods his head in understanding before putting the car in reverse and leaving the long driveway. His breathing returns to normal once the house is beyond his sight.   
“So,” starts Allison, and Scott wants to get lost in her heartbeat. “Do I get to know what you have planned?”  
“It’s not that far,” he answers, turning to smile at her before he focuses a majority of his senses on the road and driving. Within minutes, the two teens pull up to the clinic where Scott works, and he shuts the car off. He gets out and heads around the hood, getting the door for his date. He offers his hand, and his inner wolf preens when she accepts. They’re parked along the back, so he pulls a key from his jeans and unlocks the large metal door, gesturing for her to go first. Reflex finds the light switch, and the room illuminates with the fluorescents along the high ceiling. Some of the cages in the back are filled, and different creatures make noises in either greeting or aggression at being awoken. Taking Allison’s hand again, he leads her to a door along the side that goes into a different room. Scott can already hear them, but when Allison registers what she’s hearing with the door opening, a huge smile breaks out onto her face.  
The small room is filled with the yips and little bays of four week old puppies.  
“Oh my god,” she breathes, and goes to kneel next to the little fenced off area. Inside the chicken coup wiring are eight puppies of different colourings, some with perked ears, others floppy, all equally excited to meet someone new.  
“Hey guys,” coos Scott as he kneels by them, turning to acknowledge the older dog laying on the oversized pillow in the area. “Hey momma, how are we feeling today?” calls the teen, scratching behind the medium sized dog’s shaggy ears. She leans into the touch, licking his palm in greeting.   
“When did…?” starts Allison, smile stretching wide over her face. Scott tries to fight his own grin from matching.  
“A week and a half ago,” he answers, reaching his free hand to be inspected by a small black nose. “Someone found them behind a dumpster. Looks like she was abandoned, probably by someone moving. She is comfortable around people, and she’s a total sweetheart. The pups are finally old enough to start socializing with humans, which is why I asked Deaton if this was okay.”  
He fidgeted his hands.   
“Do you- is this okay? I know it’s not the fancy dinner you might’ve been expecting…”  
Warm dark eyes met Scott’s, and he swore she could hear the staccato of his heart leaping out of his chest.  
“This is perfect.”  
With perfect clarity, Scott will come to remember how she looked as she leaned her face towards him, her small button nose dusted with freckles, her long dark lashes sweeping over her cheeks, everything. Her lips were soft, maybe the softest thing he had ever felt, and he could hear the blood rushing through her veins, his eyes could track how a blush grew along her heart shaped face until he closed his eyes in serenity, and everything felt right.  
The chaste kiss ended much to quickly, but not before he got to see the honesty in her eyes. She was happy, and that’s all that mattered.  
A black and white pup took that moment to bark loudly, startling the two from their moment. Allison’s gaze turned to the small lives just a few feet from her, and she leaned in to pick one up. It wasn’t jealousy that Scott felt when those adoration filled eyes turned and focused on the pup in her hands, but it was a close feeling.


	5. Chapter 5

That night, Scott dreams in bright colours. Pinks and greens and pale peaches, surrounded by halos of brown that he can drown in. When he wakes up Sunday morning, he feels right and whole, not minding that he has to spend the whole day studying Spanish.  
More often than not his mind will wander, jumping back to the events of the day before, and he’ll get lost in some detail or another, only to be forced back into reality with each alarm he’s set on his phone. Lydia had told the group about a studying method she came across, studying with alarms at certain intervals and breaks in between, how it has been proven to help with concentration.   
Not that it’s helping him, exactly.   
Dinner arrives quicker than anticipated, and Scott actually starts to panic. He has a list of verbs he needs to memorize all the tenses for, and his brain is absolutely addled. He can hear his mom puttering in the kitchen, can smell her meatloaf cooking in the oven. It’s familiar, and is helping to ground him in the here and now.   
Melissa’s voice echoes up the stairs when the oven timer goes off, and Scott tries to swallow down his anxiety.  
His stomach growls in reminder that he skipped lunch to try and focus (not that it helped), so Scott heads downstairs, feet dragging just a bit.  
Melissa is sat in her spot, pouring a glass of red wine to treat herself when she spots her son. The tension is prominent around his eyes, and she clicks her tongue in disapproval, but doesn’t vocalize her thoughts. The boy is clearly stressed enough without her additional input.  
Scott eats methodically, mind clearly busy as his body works through autopilot. Minutes pass in silence, just the scrapping of steel forks on ceramic plates singing between the two. When the meal comes to a conclusion, Scott grabs both their plates and goes to stand, only to have his forearm grabbed by his mother.  
“I’ll handle this. You go on.”  
He nods mutely, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge before he finds himself trudging up the same staircase he’s known since he was small. He had a long night ahead of him.  
***  
He doesn’t sleep that night. The alarm that usually wakes him up is different from the ones that announce his hourly breaks, but his brain is coherent enough to differentiate the two. Manic filled eyes look at the white numbers on the black background, and everything settles around him. There’s nothing more he can do.   
The water of his shower beats on his shoulder blades, the skin oddly sensitive this morning. His secondary alarm gets him out of the spray and into clean clothing, feet patting down wooden stairs, pouring the remnants of the night’s coffee into a mug while he makes a completely new pot. He’s going to need it.   
Melissa comes down to her son sitting in a wooden kitchen chair, foot tapping a quick rhythm on the floor, eyes lost in who knows where. He had maybe ten minutes until Stiles comes to pick him up, and her boy is nervous. Stepping around him, she sticks two slices of bread into the toaster, pulling out the jar of peanut butter to give her hands something to do. When the toast pops up, she coats them liberally, placing the plate in front of Scott. Without really seeing them, he shoves the food in his mouth as she refills his coffee. His head whips to one side without warning, and he starts chugging the steaming liquid, surely burning his mouth but he seems to be a man on a mission. A familiar honk can be heard, and Melissa looks in the direction where the infamous blue Jeep will be idling.   
Barely giving her a second look, Scott grabs his bag from under the table, heading off to the first of his exams.  
The small plate covered in crumbs is a sad visual for the nurse, but she has her own duties and responsibilities to handle. The lights get flicked off as she leaves the room, grabbing her keys and comfortable shoes and heading to her car. She’s sure that her son will be fine. And if he isn’t… well, summer school may actually do him some good.  
***  
Scott knew he wasn’t going to be prepared for the exam.  
Actually sitting in the room with thirty other students in cramped desks all as stressed as he was? His senses were going wild. The scent of stress sweat was getting to a level he wanted to gag at, but he doubted the teacher would accept that as an excuse to leave without immediately failing him. Instead he tried breathing through his mouth, but he could still taste the acidity. Two hours passed too quickly, and he handed in his paper, trying not to grimace at thinking of most his answers.  
It’ll be a miracle if he actually passed this. He should have studied with Danny during the semester when the other teen originally offered.  
Hordes of teenagers all leave through the doors, some heading home to study, others getting in a bit of fresh air before their afternoon exams start. Scott is part of the earlier group, heading towards his house with the intention of going for a run through the forest. Stiles was busy for the afternoon, so he had a few hours to bleed off his excess energy before his mother came home expecting to see him studying.  
The forest was just a serene as it usually was, the local fauna vocal in their usual ways. Scott chose not to bring his phone, instead sticking on an old sports watch to track the time as he jogged at a human pace until he got deep enough in the bush. Upon properly hitting the edge of the Hale property line, the weak scent just noticeable, Scott shifted and ran as fast as he could. His mind would blank out, letting instinct take over has he volleyed over debris and climbed to newer heights, going and going and going until his muscles finally registered a burn.  
Scott’s gaze bleeds back human, and he finds himself in a large redwood tree, stories above the surrounding trees. He squints his eyes in confusion, looking around in an attempt to find any evidence of town. Looks like he’ll have to follow his own scent trail back. The sun was starting to lower in the sky, and his stomach rumbles loudly in further evidence of how much time had passed. His watch says he still has a few hours until his mom gets home, but he feels less restless now, almost ready enough to tackle studying again. Maybe. He’ll reevaluate when he gets home. After a sandwich, maybe two.  
Just as he gets ready to climb down the tree, a bird lands on the end of his branch. Scott gives it a quick once over, but nothing stands out about the crow, so he ignores the creature as he swings from thick branch to branch.  
Far above him, the bird gives a large call, one that is mimicked and echoed across the forest and beyond.  
***  
The rest of the week follows just as Monday did. Food, studying, and coffee, with Friday releasing the student body of Beacon Hills High in a cresting wave. Goodbyes are given, last minute things are signed in yearbooks, and the stress of the school year dissipates as people step further from the brick building. Scott and Stiles have the best plans, a weekend binge of Call of Duty to celebrate the end of exams, as Scott will have nearly full time hours at the clinic starting Monday. So, while they can, the two plan to just be the goofy teens the world expects them to be.  
If the last five months have proven anything, it’s that the group is not prepared for what the world wants to throw at them. They need to train. They need to plan.  
They need to be prepared.


	6. Chapter 6

It’s about three weeks into summer vacation when things start getting weird.

It starts off with a heavy feeling in the air. Nobody can quite explain the feeling of apprehension hanging over them. Its not a bad sensation exactly, just that there is something there. 

Each member of the two packs is experiencing it differently.

The teens are antsy when they meet up, not vocalizing but sharing knowing looks. Eyes flit about, trying to see if whatever it is is tangible, but none of their senses can pick anything up.

It’s Isaac that just suggests its general apprehension combined with anxiety. For everyone’s peace of mind, they go with it. Derek doesn’t have any ideas, and Deaton seems nonplussed by it, so they don’t bring it up again. It just sits above them like the most unwelcome rain cloud. 

Stiles sticks by his plan to get into better shape over the summer. He starts to run every day, Scott joining when he has the time to. Dr. Deaton has him working solid hours, but he still tries to make time for his best friend. Soon enough, Stiles stamina gets to the point that they can run comfortably through the forestry… for the most part. 

More often than not, the teenage boy has collapsed on the forest floor, begging oxygen to find it’s way into his lungs. Scott is usually standing to the side- hands in the pockets of his basketball shorts, trying not to laugh at the human. It was only a few months before where he was in the same situation, worse in fact, with his asthma crippling his sport based dreams and ambitions.

Today was one such day. The two had decided to start their run early, and were on one of the lesser run trails while the sun slowly climbed up the morning sky. Stiles had been pacing himself well, but the inevitable collapse came and it struck hard. He sat on a stump, borderline dry heaving as Scott watched from the side, handing Stiles the water bottle the wolf had been carrying specifically for him. 

“Dude, I think you’re done for the day.”

“Don’t- don’t start with me Scotty,” rasped the other teen, sweat pouring down his body in an attempt to cool him off. He weakly gestured for the water with a flap of his hand, and Scott couldn’t help but pass it over to him.

“I can carry you the rest of the way to your jeep. You don’t look like you’re going to make it is all I’m saying.”

“Whatever dude,” Stiles muttered between gulps of the room temperature liquid. He finished three-quarter of the bottle before acknowledging the other teen again. “I can finish this. No shortcuts.”

“Yeah, okay.” 

They keep going for about another ten minutes before Scott slows down. It’s when he stops abruptly, causing Stiles to smack into his back and stumble to the side, that Stiles wants to vocalize something. Complaints die on his tongue as he sees Scott sniffing the air, eyes a tad bit predatory. This far out in the forest, surely whatever he smells is nothing good. Stiles turns and listens, trying to keep his heaving breathing as quiet as possible, when he sees something that he didn’t expect to. 

Standing through the trees is a figure. It’s a woman with short messy black hair wearing a black cropped t-shirt and long, billowing black skirts that drag along the ground. The woman is paying no attention to them, looking in the underbrush for something. Stiles can see white cords hanging from her ears, so that explains how she didn’t notice them. There’s a bag by her side on the ground.

“Dude, what is it?” Stiles turns back to his friend, potential issue back in mind.

“I… smell something, I think?” Confusion was written all over the teen’s face.

“How do you think you smell something? You either do or you don’t?”

“It’s like a lack of a smell. I can’t explain it.”

It’s at this moment the woman stands up, bag in hand, and turns. She halts when she sees the two teens, and takes a step. She seems like she’s going to walk towards them, but thinks differently and turns the complete other way, paying the runners no heed. 

“Huh, who knew goths liked to go for hikes,” commented Stiles, sass biting his remaining breath. 

“You can’t say that was normal.”

“Dude, nothing in this town is normal. Who are we to tell the local civilians what they can and can’t do.” Stiles bends to adjust his shoelaces, and stretches out his legs, fighting the weariness that is already settling into his bones. “Come on, we still have another hour if we keep up a good pace, and I know you don’t tire, but I do.”

They finished their run a bit later than they thought, Stiles out of breath and asking for a mercy killing on the ground by his tires. Scott rolls his eyes as he fills the jeep with their water bottles and sweaters. When he can, Stiles pulls himself off of the ground, clamours into the front seat, and heads towards Scott's place. The human denies an invitation to hang around for a bit, citing a very much needed grocery run as his excuse. The two say their goodbyes, and Scott heads towards his shower.

While Scott is showering off the exertion from their run, he goes back to the weird scent in the forest. 

It was the strangest combination of things he could think of, yet it seemed to also be absent. Normally a stroll through a forest will hold all the usual smells: leaf litter, damp rot, the musk of different animals marking their meager territories, sometimes exhaust fumes from roads that are nearby… but that last stretch of forestry seemed dulled down. A normal person wouldn’t have noticed it, but a wolf’s sense of smell was heightened to notice such inconsistencies. 

Stiles pointing out the random person didn’t help, but they were downwind from teens, so the smell wasn’t coming from them… Her. The town wasn’t exactly small, but Scott had been living there for eight years, he felt like he should have a pretty decent grasp on who lived there. Someone dressed so… uniquely would have stood out pretty well from his memory. Beacon Hills didn’t have a large “alternative” community, and the only person coming to mind was Derek Hale in his black leather jacket, and that drew plenty of attention.

_Shut up McCall, you’re focusing on nothing._

Funny enough, his inner voice held the snarky tone of Jackson Whitmore. 

He rinses the last of the suds from his hair and shut off the water, letting the absence of sound fill his head for a solid minute. The drip drip drip of the faucet pulls him from that weird lull, and he reaches around the curtain to grab the towel off the rack.

Fully dressed and in his room, he checks his phone from where it sits dejected on his dresser, surprised to see the light in the corner flashing. Pulling open the text, he sees it’s from Stiles who had been filling the “packs” group chat with borderline paragraphs of information. Thrown in here and there are complaints from Jackson about wanting to actually enjoy sleeping in on a Saturday and how Stilinski’s continuous abuse of the app will lead to him “getting pummeled”. Erica replies that he needs to grow up, and to just mute the notifications on his fancy new phone.

Lydia pipes up that he hasn’t figured out how to.

**StilesBro:** Guys, u r completely missing what I’m saying! 

**Isaac:** okay, well, what than 

**Isaac:** then* 

**Isaac:** or is it than? what’s the dif??? 

**Lydia:** I swear to God Isaac, we went over this for your exam… 

**StilesBro:** Focus peeps! Dad got a call into the next county. Apparently they’ve got a serial killer on their hands 

**Whitsuck:** Okay, and why should I care? Also, your dead Stilinski

**StilesBro:** you’re* 

**Whitsuck:** FUCK OFF STILES 

**Erica:** ohmygawd you guys are suck freaking children 

Scott found himself snickering, pocketing his phone in the back of his jeans and heading downstairs, ignoring the faint vibrations. Sometimes his best friend’s obsession with true crime murder ran a little far, and this seemed to be one of those days. 

Their early morning run deemed a success, Stiles had mentioned running the same trail tomorrow morning, albeit he was extremely short of breath when he tried pushing for it. 

Scott just couldn’t say no to his favourite human. 

He had a short shift today, 3 pm until 8, working in the cat room. It was the least favourite of his duties. While all animals could identify a ‘were’, dogs tended to be a little more forgiving, warming up to him. Cats on the other hand, hissed and yowled the entire time he was in their presence. He had only managed to cow them once, and hadn’t been able to recreate the effect, to which they never let him forget. 

In short, cats were _assholes_. 

*** 

It was nearly five days later when Scott was walking through downtown and he came across that same absence of scent. One moment his senses were overwhelmed by a gas spill close by, his eyes were almost watering, the next he could take the closest thing to a full breath of air as one could find in the city. Instinct running high, he followed the lack-of-scent as best he could, ending up in the bowels of their city, skittering past a few homeless folks. Soon enough he found himself in the desolation of an abandoned parking garage, side stepping huge piles of garbage and rotting furniture with questionable stains. Taking a deep inhale through his nose, he wasn’t expecting the absolutely stomach curdling scent that rushed his senses, making his eyes water and had him bending over, dry heaving. His ear rung as the smell permeating everything, overwhelming every other signal being sent to his brain. 

He slapped his hand over his nose, trying to block out the worst of it, only breathing through his mouth, but the smell became taste, and in this he did vomit. He avoided his shoes by mere inches but couldn’t stop the spray that erupted. Bent over, he saw the barest streak of something shiny, and his eyes followed it to the dilapidated remains of a tent. Shuffling over, trying not to breath, Scott jerked the nylon flap aside, heaving again as the smell wafted into his face. 

He turned away as fast as he could, running back to the parking garage’s entrance, trying to breath, trying to erase what he had just seen. 

The gas spill smell was preferable to everything else as he pulled his phone out and dialed 9-1-1. 

“Operator, what’s your emergency?” 

“Hi,” he coughed, still tasting the rot. “I need the police. I found a… a body. I think. It’s in really bad shape.” 


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles’ Dad, as the Sheriff of Beacon Hills, is lead on the murder case. His face when Scott tries to explain why he was in an abandoned parking structure in the sketchy part of town goes just about as well as one would think. He’s unimpressed by the end of it, and because Scott is a minor, his mom gets called in. Melissa’s face when she gets to the station says exactly what she’s thinking, and Scott tries to sink into the orange plastic chair they have him sitting in as the two adults talk in his office. He can hear every word, but fidgets with his phone, pretending otherwise. 

Stiles swings by as soon as he can, wanting every single detail. 

“Dude, it was like soup.”

“Soup,” repeated Stiles, leg bouncing under a desk not being used that he had commandeered. The tapping was almost drowning out the adults murmuring in the other room. “As in the level of decomp had hit a certain stage, or…?”

“No, like the… person… had melted. I don’t even know how to describe it. I’ve smelled death and dead bodies before, and this was nothing like it. I puked.”

“Damn, and you’ve had a pretty strong stomach since the whole, you know,” replied the teen, gesturing in Scott’s general direction. 

“Yup.”

The two teens sat in silence, only looking up when Melissa left the Sheriff's Office in a huff. She shot her son a look, who scrambled from his chair to follow. He waved goodbye to Stiles as they left the station, getting into the passenger side of his mom’s blue car. The thing started with the first try, and they idled for a moment while Melissa rubbed at her eyes. She reversed from her spot, turning out of the little parking lot onto the road headed for home.

Scott was quiet the first few minutes of the drive, unsure what to say to his mom.

She ended up filling the silence herself.

“So,” she started, drumming her fingers along the steering wheel. “John mentioned that he couldn’t get a completely straight answer why you were even there.”

Scott momentarily panicked.

“I told him,” he started, making sure his voice was even. “I was just walking around, you know, exploring, and I just came across it. The uh, tent, that is.”

“Exploring.”

“Yeah, you know, just enjoying a day downtown…”

“Scott, why were you in that part of town? Be honest, you have zero reason to be there.”

“Mom, I told you-”

“Was it drugs?” There’s a hint of panic in Melissa’s voice, and the drumming can be seen as fidgeting now that Scott sees the signs. He takes a moment to centre himself and focus his hearing, and he’s surprised that he didn’t catch the quick, loud thumping of his mother’s heartbeat before. A subtle inhale shows that she smells like stress with the undertones of fear.

Oh.

“Oh mom, no, it’s not like that-”

“Then what is it like Scott Raphael McCall? Because honestly, I’m starting to freak out a bit-”

“Mom! It’s nothing that way, I promise. It was honestly just an accident, me being there. I’m not doing anything drug related, there’s nothing sketchy going on, it was all just a really weird day, and I couldn’t not report what I found. That was a person, mom, a person…”

By this point the blue car pulls into their driveway, and Melissa puts the car in park before turning to her son. “Oh sweetie, I know that must have been traumatic for you. And you did the right thing. Did you want to talk to someone about it? There are plenty of good doctors at the hospital who specialize in these kinds of things…”

Scott digs his palms into his eyes, trying to rub the images caught behind them away. 

“Honestly mom, I just want to lie down. It’s been a crazy day.”

“Yeah, okay, I get it. Did you want me to throw something in the oven?”

“I don’t have much of an appetite. I think I’m just going to head to my room.” Scott goes to let himself out of the car, walking to the front door and unlocking it with the key he had shoved into his pocket earlier. He hears his mother lock the car and follow after him, but he’s already upstairs and shutting his bedroom door before she’s even had a chance to lock the front door. 

Scott pulls his phone out and sends a mass text to the packs, letting everyone know that they need to meet up tonight. He keeps an ear out for his mother’s actions, feeling a little bad that he couldn’t be more honest with her.

She’s a rational woman, but there is no way she would be able to handle his world and all the crazy it contains. Sometimes, he doesn’t think he can.

Everyone agrees to meet in the clearing in the preserve, the one they usually train at. Danny can’t make it tonight, but wants updates when they can spare them. After about ten minutes of pacing, Scott gets the faintest whiff of _it_ again. He gags in memory, ripping the clothing off his body in revulsion. He needs to shower, now.

The water almost runs red with how hard he scrubs at his skin, and he lets his face sit in the spray for as long as he can hold his breath, trying to get the stench out of his nostrils. It’s not working though, he doesn’t feel clean. It feels like an oiliness on him, and Scott knows that nothing is actually on his skin, he didn’t touch anything, but the heaviness still lingers, and he turns the heat up until it’s almost pure steam scalding his skin. The sensation of pain is biting, but his cells heal before any real damage can be done, before he can actually give himself burns. 

It takes the hot water tank emptying for Scott to pull himself from his little haven, and the tiny washroom is so thick with steam he can barely see his hand in front of him. He forgot to open the window… damn, his mom is going to yell at him.

When Scott gets back to his bedroom, he sees the pile of clothing and his skin crawls. He should just burn the lot, it wouldn’t be the first time he would have had to do it. But part of him screams that it’s a bad idea. He runs downstairs, making sure to be quiet so his mother doesn’t hear, and grabs the thickest black trash bag he can get his hands on, and the pair of gloves sometimes used for the dishes. 

The yellow latex grips the cotton blend shirt and denim easily enough, and he triple knots the bag, giving it a cursory sniff to make sure nothing is leaking out. Good, now all he has to do it wait.

Melissa is up pacing the extent of her room for hours, only settling to sleep at almost midnight. Scott waits until her breathing is even before he slides his bedroom window open, making sure to grab the trash bag, and shutting it behind him. He holds the plastic in his arms as he launches himself off the roof, landing as silently as he can. There’s still nary a sound from his house. Now, he runs.

There’s no joy found in today’s run. He on a mission, moving as silently as he can through the forestry behind his house, letting the moon guide him where it breaks through the thick canopy. His eyes catch every little detail; seeing the tracks of a rabbit in the underbrush, following the clumsy feet of some amateur hiker from earlier in the day, the broken plant life and disturbed earth telling it’s own story. But Scott is not hunting tonight. 

When he reaches the clearing, the other wolves are all there, minus the alpha. Derek’s scent isn’t even on the wind, but Scott has no plan on waiting to see if he even shows up.

“Anyone know where Derek is?” he calls out as he slows to a jog.

The other betas all shake their head, while Lydia is huddled with Allison with Stiles standing not too far away.

“I tried to find him earlier today, but he isn’t at the train depot anymore. His scent was old, at least a few days,” answers Isaac from where he’s sitting against a boulder.

“Great. Does your alpha just up and disappear sometimes, is that a thing?” snarks Jackson, face bored and shoulders hunched, clearly unimpressed.

“Ease off, Whitmore. And he’s your alpha too,” answers Erica, lounging amongst the wildflowers, Boyd’s head perched in her lap. 

“No he ain’t,” the blond bit out, but this was an old argument. 

“Enough, we don’t have time for this,” Scott called, motioning for everyone to come around. The humans were the first to walk forward, and Allison brushed a hand against Scott’s shoulder. He gave her a weak smile in response. 

The others moved soon enough, and everyone was hunched over, trying to get a good look at what Scoot had brought. He hadn’t even opened the bag yet.

“Okay, so everyone is up-to-date with what happened earlier?” There were nods all around. “Okay. So, I smelled something, and it basically led me to where I ended up finding a body. I had smelled the first thing a few days ago with Stiles, but the weird thing about it was that it was a lack of a smell. Like something was missing in the air. I followed this to the parking garage, where I found the tent. The scent around it was so bad, I vomited.”

Jackson started to laugh, but was smacked into silence by Lydia. 

“No, it was bad. A bit of it is still on my clothes from earlier, so I brought them. The thing is, none of the humans on site commented on the stench. That’s what made me suspicious that this might not be a completely normal thing.”

There a moment of scuffled sound as Scott unties the bag, refusing to rip the plastic. Once it’s open, there isn’t much of a change in smell in the air. It takes Stiles reaching in and grabbing his shirt, shaking the article out and smelling it for the weres to even react.

To the humans, there is no change in smell. Stiles knows what Scott smells like, he’s been friends with him so long, has done laundry at his house for years, even knows the brand of detergent the McCalls use. Nothing seems odd, but when he looks up, he sees the exact moment all the wolves smell whatever it is. 

Erica brings both hands to her face, stepping away, trying to cover her nose. Isaac looks faint, with Boyd dragging him away as he gags. Jackson darts backwards, trying to get out of the wind, pushing the scent around. Scott knows better than to try and breathe through his mouth, so when Isaac does it, he sympathizes with the gagging teen. The blond is now on all fours, hacking up saliva, claws digging into the earth. 

The humans are perplexed, but Stiles quickly puts the shirt away, tying off the bag while calling out to Allison to fetch the hand sanitizer out of his bag. She goes to throw the bottle at him, but he shakes his head.

“Just pour a bunch on my hands. I don’t want to risk scent transference.”

The brunette girl does as he asks, twitching her own nose at the over powering smell of disinfectant, but the wolves seem to prefer that over whatever they were smelling.

“What the actual FUCK was that?” Erica shrieks from behind her hands, refusing to step closer to the bag.

“I don’t know,” answers Scott, toeing the black bag on the ground. “It was much, much worse where I was. That was barely anything.”

“Holy mother of God I CAN STILL TASTE IT,” moans Isaac, spitting over and over into the slowly growing puddle under him.

“That was bad.” Boyd’s words pretty much summing up everything. 

“That’s not normal. Whatever that is, I think it killed the person in the tent. Allison, I need you to look through your family’s bestiary, maybe find some kind of clue or hint. I don’t know where Derek went or how long he’ll be gone for, but this isn’t something we can let settle and not do anything. Until he surfaces, we’re on our own.” Scott looked from grim face to grim face, and saw spirits dying just a little bit. The last few weeks, bordering on months, had been content, almost quiet. There wouldn’t be a whole lot of that from this point on, Scott could just sense it. 

The band gets ready to separate, and Scott pulls Allison to the side in a rough hug. The young woman responds, slotting her arms under his, and settles her nose into the crook of his shoulder. Scott just stands there and breathes for a minute before pulling away and looking into her dark eyes. 

“I need you to see what you can find on what can make a smell so bad that werewolves are instantly repulsed.”

“I’ll see what I can find,” she starts, bottom lips stressed between her teeth. “Can you describe what it was you smelled?”

“Like rot. Like death and decay and grave soil and all the dark things I can think to name. If this is just what is smells like lingering, secondhand, I don’t want to meet it face to face. It could take us down by just being up wind.”

Allison’s gaze seems to be focusing just below his eyes, so Scott gently grabs her chin, lifting until their eyes meet. They were so large and dark, and Scott dreamed of just getting lost in them. 

“We’ve got this. Okay?”

“Okay,” she seems to parrot, lost in their stolen moment until a voice can be heard calling across the field.

“C’mon Allison, you’re my ride home!”

Lydia stands impatiently, tapping her right foot into the grass, one hand up to push Jackson’s face away when he gets to close. The brush with the scent seems to have warn off of him, and he’s back to his moody, self-absorbed self. 

“I’ve got to go,” she says, and steps away from her arms. She darts back in to give him a shy peck on the cheek, leaving with her own happy smile. Scott watches dumbfounded, only snapping out of it when Stiles waves the black trash bag in front of his face. There’s no smell of rot, but he still flinches back. 

“Dude, what are you doing with this?” the be-speckled teen asks, fighting off a yawn at the late hour. 

“I’m not sure. I can’t have it at my place, the scent is utterly repulsive, if it gets on my stuff, I don’t know if it’ll ever come out. Can you maybe keep it in the jeep until we can find Derek?”

“Yeah, sure,” replies Stiles, trying to shake the lethargy from his bones.

“Go home Stiles, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Sounds good.” With a sharp turn, the human trots away, following the hidden path to where the packs park their vehicles. Stiles disappears into the forest, and Scott is left standing alone beneath a cloud filled sky. The hour is late, and he has an early shift at the clinic starting much sooner than he’d like. He turns to leave, mind too full to notice the lone blackbird sitting in a tree, watching with weirdly intelligent eyes.

By the time he gets home and is in bed, it’s no longer late, more so _early_ now, but he tries to still his mind, tries to summon sleep, even if it’s only for an hour or two. The world quiets, and he’s pulled beneath the waves, and Scott McCall dreams of dark, dark things, things he wont recall when he shoots out of bed when his alarm goes off, but things that will haunt the edge of his psyche. Things that will laugh from the shadows at his jumpy nerves. Things that will watch with curious eyes and cold hands that will trail along the nape of his neck, only to not be there when he turns.

It’s how they like to play after all. 

***

Derek Hale stretches his large frame from his camaro, grabbing the driver’s side door as he exits the car. The world is dark and quiet tonight as he stands in the lands beyond the edges of his territory. He had felt something on the wind, something that demanded his attention so he headed the call, knowing that the land wouldn’t send him somewhere in vain. All around there is the sound of life travelling on the winds, carrying with it the scents of civilization: sewage, exhaust, sweat, and people. 

The city just on the horizon belongs to others. There are too many that consider it their territory, just because of the large number of humans that reside in it. Derek for the most part avoids cities because of this. Weres tend not to get along with others, too territorial, but something has started to nag at the back of his head, demanding his attention. To what, he doesn’t know yet, but he will figure this puzzle out.


	8. Chapter 8

Stiles was enjoying a pleasant dream. 

In it, two beautiful women were walking towards him, both redheads, both with sinful smiles and eyes of caramel and jade that he wanted to get lost in. They walked up to him, trailing pale hands against his skin, circling, clinging to his sides. Sharp nails bit into his skin, but Stiles didn’t mind, his mind was slowly going fuzzy with that nice feeling. When the beauty on his left leaned in, pushing her breasts up against him, letting her lips tickle the shell of his ear, all to try and whisper to him, tell him a little secret…

“Stiles, you’re running late again…”

Confusion blanked his thoughts, and Stiles turned to the pretty lady to ask her what she meant, when it was his dad’s face he saw instead.

The teen shot up, yelp caught in his throat as he tried to wrestle himself out of his blankets. His father stood by his bedroom door, looking entire nonplussed.

“Nice dream?” the man inquired, eyebrow slotting upwards at the debacle his son had managed to get himself in. The teen sunk into his shoulders, arms still bound in his sheets, trying to be discreet in his wiggling. Finally, John could only take so much and turned away, heading towards the stairs.“Breakfast is in five,” he bellowed over his shoulder, the only response a muffled thump that sounded like about 140 lbs of teenage boy landing on the ground. 

Stiles glared at underneath his bed. He was bound a tad bit tight, and knew from personal experience that his best bet was to just be calm. So like the devil’s snare of one of his favourite series, his only hope fell on him not struggling, just inching his arms this way and that until he could free one of them. Soon enough he had his right arm free, and was undoing the shibari level knot work he had managed to get himself into. But, if anyone asked, no, he didn’t know what shibari was, and no, he didn’t know where to find fun yet informative videos. He was a healthy teenage boy. Sue him.

 

When he finally found his way into the kitchen, his dad was sitting at their little kitchen table, reading over a newspaper, sipping coffee. Stiles bee-lined straight to the peculator, pouring a mug for himself and fixing it how he liked, thoughts a bit hazy. 

When his dad started to talk, it sent a shiver of revulsion up his spine, and he tried not to show it too much. His dream was still fresh in his mind.“Hey, I figured you were going to anyways, but when you can, can you check up on Scott some time today? I don’t like the note we ended on yesterday.” Stiles looked up from his mug, mind still a bit fired from their late night meeting ending only a few hours ago. His dad was drumming his fingers on the hardwood table, so Stiles shot him a smile.“Yeah, no problem dad. Say… if you need any extra help on the investigation…”

“No, Stiles. There’s something off about this case, and I don’t want you around it. I’ve got a bad feeling about it…”

Normally Stiles would give some form of somewhat sincere reassurance, but the lost look in his dad’d eyes had him holding his tongue. The police wouldn’t be able to handle the world surrounding this murder, but he couldn’t warn his dad. Too many questions would be asked. Answers he wouldn’t be able to give.

“Yeah dad, I got it.”

The two men allowed the silence to grow, comfortable in it after years of experience. Stiles popped a few pieces of bread in the toaster, pulling out the jam and waiting for his toast. The popping sound broke him out of the nowhere his mind had drifted to, and he covered a yawn with his palm, gulping coffee when he could. He brought his breakfast to the table, sitting to his father’s left, mind drifting in and out, trying not to get too lost in the memories of the previous night.Something that could incapacitate a werewolf just by scent alone… 

It sort of made sense. They had an extremely acute sense of smell, so if a creature could somehow use that to it’s advantage, rather than hide just blatantly broadcast… hmmmm…Stiles needed to run to the library. He mentioned doing so as he took his empty dishes to the sink.

“Good idea,” called out his father, still lost in his morning reading. “Oh, while you’re out there, you should bring the laundry.”

Stiles stopped rinsing his mug out.

“What do you mean ‘laundry’?”

“The machine started to smoke while I had it running this morning. Repair guy can’t get in for another few days, and I happen to know you haven’t done your laundry in about two weeks. So, everything is loaded into trash bags, just take it to the laundromat down the road from the library.”

“Ugh dad! Are you kidding me!”

“Nope. Earn your keep.”

Stiles shot his dad a dirty 

look, who promptly ignored it. He let out the loudest, longest sigh he could, trying to vocalize how displeased he was with this turn of events. The sheriff ignored it.

When Stiles started to mount the stairs, he heard his dad again.

“Don’t forget to strip your bed!”

Thud. Thud. THUD.

Stiles’ forehead hurt from where it repeatedly said hi to the hallway wall, and he drag himself up the stairs. 

***

There was a surprising amount of laundry for just two people that Stiles loaded into the back of his jeep. The number of shiny black trash bags made him feel rather Dexter-esque, but he kept that comparison to himself. Pockets loaded down with quarters and a giant box of laundry powder in the passenger seat, Stiles started up his baby and headed into town. Parking was scarce, but he found a spot only just far enough away to be annoying, having to make multiple trips to move the nearly dozen assorted sized black bags. Apparently his dad wanted all the blankets and towels washed on top of everything. 

Ugh.

The laundromat was mostly empty, so Stiles grabbed as many machines as he could, ripping open the bags with abandon, so done with the whole situation. The dirty laundry pooled on the floor, and with his mom’s sweet voice in his ear, he started sorting everything out. Darks with darks, whites with whites, bleach where needed, etc etc. By the end of it, he had eight machines spinning, timer set on his phone to let him know when the hour would be up. Looking on the ground, less irate now, he noticed how all the bags had been ripped.

Fuck. 

Stiles was going to have to be creative getting all this clean laundry back in his jeep. He sighed out loud, stretching out tired muscles before high tailing it to the cafe next door. He barely had two brain cells working in tandem, he needed more coffee if he was going to get any research done. 

The librarians knew him pretty well. The Sheriff’s son was a common enough sight after his mother had passed. Books were his go to, picking up the series that his mom had started to read to him just before he got sick. In that wonderful wizarding world, he could escape from that empty place inside him that his mother had once filled. Nowadays, Stiles could be seen grabbing anything from manga to tomes of folklore, such as today. 

He had a short americano in one hand, sipping idly as he looked through a book on Native American lore, seeing what he could piece together as fact (or as close as he could get) and fiction. However, aside from the odd off-handed comment from Derek, Stiles couldn’t really be sure which ones of these creatures were real. 

When the shrill sound of his alarm went off, Stiles nearly jumped out of his seat. He scrambled to silence the thing, earning him a chilling glare from Mrs. Wright, the head librarian, and he tried to raise his hand in apology only to be immediately dismissed. He grabbed the stack of books he was reading, speed walking to the front desk to sign them out. 

The coffee cup was thrown out in the first trash can passed, and he carried his bounty back to the laundromat. The Stilinskis didn’t really have anything that needed to be separated and air dried, so Stiles just threw everything into the accompanying driers, set another timer, and walked to his jeep. He threw most of the books into the passenger side seat, taking the largest one with him and sitting on a bench in some sun. 

This one dealt with Pan-Asian folklore, and he flipped through until an illustration caught his eye. It was a drawing of a beautiful woman, elfin almost in nature, with long black hair and blood red eyes. It was about a pontianak, the spirit of a woman that was killed in childbirth that would return to haunt her village. The interesting bit of this though, was that they were described to smell like rotting meat…

None of the wolves had been able to properly vocalize what it was they smelled, and Stiles couldn’t recall anything odd. Maybe if he smelled it again today.

He closed the book, resting it on his hip as he checked the timer on his phone. He had plenty of time, so he headed back to his jeep, unlocking he trunk and rifling through everything for the bag.

It took a solid minute before panic started to set in.

_Fuck, where was it, fuck fuck fuck…_

Stiles took a step back, trying to think about whether Scott may have actually taken it with him, but no, Stiles recalled quite clearly being handed the bag. Maybe he threw it in his backpack? He double checked every pocket, but nothing.

It… it was in a black garbage bag. Just like the ones he had ripped and emptied onto the floor just under two hours ago.

The timer went off on his phone, and Stiles slammed the jeep door shut, making sure it was locked before he sprinted into the laundromat. He started pulling out the assorted dry loads, and there, in the third machine, was the dark green of Scott’s shirt. In a separate dryer, the one with all the denim in it, would most likely be his jeans. 

Stiles had screwed up.

He pulled up the group chat on his phone.

BeamMeUpScotty: Yeah dude, I’ll keep that in mind.

BeamMeUpScotty: Later

Me: Right, so small problem

Me: The evidence, you know, the stuff that apparently smells super bad???

Me: It ended up in the laundry

FieryGingerGoddess: Stiles, are you kidding me?

BeamMeUpScotty: DUDE! you had one job!

AllisonArgent: That doesn’t sound good

WhitTwat: Hah! Classic fuck up Stilinski

Me: It’s fine, we can just go back to the crimescene… no wait, we can’t

Me: Dad called in a specialty squad, it’s under borderline quarantine laws bc the soup like person was in bad shape

Me: So, lots of people with guns guarding it

Me: Yeah, I fucked this one up

Stiles pocketed his phone, trying not to focus on the constant buzzing. After about a solid minute of vibrating, he sneaked a peak at the chaos.

NoFunNamesForDanny: I’m sure you guys can figure out a way around this, right?

EricaReyes: Dude, u don’t get it.

EricaReyes: I have never smelled anything so atrocious. 

WhitTwat: Oooo triple letter score

EricaReyes: Don’t start pipsqueak

Stiles decided that was enough for today. He stuffed the phone back in it’s pocket a grabbed the least damaged bags he could find, filling them with assorted clothing a fabrics. It took twice as long to ferry everything back to his jeep, as he couldn’t close or tie anything off, and once everything was stored and the machines were double checked, he got ready to leave. 

He took a minute to just sit in his jeep and curse is barely competent mind. Sleep deprivation plus not enough coffee equalled a massive fuck up for Stiles. 

Stiles started up his jeep, heading towards home. Scott wouldn’t be home for a few hours, and although the rest of the assorted group “hung out” occasionally, he wasn’t quite comfortable enough with them to just drop by. Also, there was the whole “him being a total dumb-ass thing”, so home it was. 

Folding laundry was boring, and when he came across the offending articles, he stored them to the side. He still had all the ripped bags, maybe the wolves could get a trace of a scent from them? At this point, that was Stiles’ only bit of redemption. 

All this, because his laundry machine just had to break down this morning. Ugh.

***

General anxiety had Stiles baking apology cookies, nearly four dozen of them, which he bagged up and brought with him when he went to Scott’s later that afternoon. It was heading closer to dinner time, but Stiles still worried about his best friend. 

The other young man was looking better, if one compared him to the hollowed out shell he had been last night.

The two sat on the couch, passing the bag of chocolate peanut butter cookies between them, munching away. Scott had smelled through the bags, but couldn’t pick up the scent. It didn’t seem to stick to the slick surface of the plastic.

Scott had been texting with Allison the entire day, and so far she hadn’t been able to find any reference to a creature that stunk to a werewolf. It wasn't like they had a large reference population to check to see if maybe it smelled differently to other creatures. 

So, to work with what they had…

“We could try describing the smell to Derek,” quipped Stiles between cookies. 

“I don’t know how else to describe ‘really, really, horrible’. Do you?” 

So, Scott was still a little salty about the whole thing. Fair enough. 

“Hey dude, I’m just trying to help. This all happened because of my freaking stupid washing machine just had to break down this morning.”

“And why didn’t you come over and do laundry at my place?” Scott looked to his left, watching the human freeze at the suggestion.

“That… is an excellent idea. Oh my God today just hasn’t gone right from the start. And I would have saved like twenty bucks in quarters!”

Both teens stared at the ceiling, beseeching anyone or anything listening for a break. None could be seen coming. 

***

Sheriff Stilinski was quiet about the details of the autopsy, making sure to leave everything in his work office, locked in a safe. He knew what his son was like, and normally he would admired such behaviour, but when it came to something like this, he had to be careful.

“Sir,” came the buzzed voice from his desk phone, bringing him back to the present. “Captain Mahoney of the L.A P.D is on line one.”

He pressed down on the response button.

“Thank-you Deputy Jones.” John flexed both hands before grabbing the receiver and bringing it up to his ear, pressing the correct button to open up the line. 

“Stilinski," drawled the foreign voice on the other end.

It wasn’t quite a greeting. More of a resignation to what would be a very depressing conversation. To add, they were technically of equal rank in the eyes of the law. John tried to not let that bug him.

“Captain Mahoney, good day.”

“Is it a good day Stilinski? Because from where I’m standing, reading the report that landed on my desk not too long ago, it isn’t. Funny enough, this report is telling me that the serial killer I’ve been hunting through my city for the last year had now moved up the coast.”

“Now Captain-”

“I’m not finished Stilinski. The composition of this acid is so freaking unique that when your forensic team put it through the state-wide system, my system pinged it immediately. This is beyond bad. We’ve been chasing this bastard for eleven freaking months, and he up and moves. Your squad won’t be able to handle this. We’re sending people down.”

John shot the receiver a startled look, trying to find his tongue.

“That is unnecessary, Captain Mahoney. I’m sure the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department and surrounding areas are more than adequate to aid in solving this case.”

Laughter could be heard from the receiver, tinny and distorted. 

“You country folk are way over your heads. My team will be there in two days. Try not to let anyone else get murdered.”

Click.

He, he… he hung up. John lowered the receiver into it’s cradle, pressing his middle fingers into the sides of his head, making small, soothing motions. This just got a lot more complicated. 

He grabbed his mug of coffee, swirling the remaining dregs, trying to get his thoughts in order. He shot up, pacing three circuits in the space in front of his desk before trudging out the door, trying to get his small team’s attention.

Looks like they had company coming.


End file.
